A New Fear
by InterceptionSunset
Summary: FEAR, a tyrannous, religious organization, has long since fallen to the Wild Ones. The leaders of the estranged group of rebels have taken their place, and the power has gone straight to their heads. A new fear as risen, and as such, a new rebellion has risen to take them on. How will our heroes fare against the Legion of the Black? [Black Veil Brides Fanfiction]
1. Prologue - An Offer, a Threat

Blood spattered onto the cobblestone flooring, spraying from the split lip of a ragged-looking young woman. A coppery scent was buried in every nook and cranny of the room, smelling like bodily fluids that nobody had bothered to clean. The young woman pushed herself up from her slumped position against the ground to look her attacker in the eye, turning bruised wrists around in their rough bindings as if it would make the pain more tolerable. Both figures in the dingy room held each other's gazes in a rage-filled stare-down. Neither wanted to give in, but one of them had a clear, unfair advantage.

It went on like this for several minutes, the two staring until the unbound one got tired of the other's gaze and struck out at them. The divide between strikes got smaller and smaller as they quickly lost patience. They didn't speak, they barely breathed, they just stared - stared, stared, stared, staredstaredstared until the young woman was going cock-eyed from the pain and had to drop her gaze. One could almost hear the energy and conviction leave her body as her head sunk lowly, eyes now transfixed on the ground. A malicious smile dug into the other's face, grin ugly and filled with once holy intentions.

The man opposite the woman, the one whose hand had struck her face far too many times to leave her standing strong, spoke with a deep, gravely voice, the sound aching with many losses, but confident in having triumphed, "You know… This would be easier if you would just give me the information I need…" He ran a hand through his hair casually, as if torturing people for information was a daily habit of his, as if he didn't care that the woman before him would probably not last the week under these conditions.

His unspoken offer rang tantalizingly in her ears, his unspoken offer to end the suffering now. She could taste the escape in his words, taste the freedom from pain, but she knew deep down that she would not be able to digest the consequences if she did what he asked. Her head lolled backwards, neck hardly able to support her anymore. Their eyes met just once more, tension increasing in the room ten-fold. The woman's voice was powerful, livid, full of the energy she herself could not muster, "... Go to _Hell, _motherfucker."

Her attacker's face screwed up in unbridled rage, fist lashing out to deliver a blow to her temple that left his prisoner very nearly unconscious. He wiped the dried blood from his hands as he stepped around her tattered, fallen body in order to exit the gloomy chamber. "If you aren't willing to cooperate with me, then…" The man trailed off lazily, hand poised on the doorknob delicately. He turned his head to glance backwards at the bloodied figure lying on the floor, a mirthful, caustic smirk plastered to pale cheeks. "I'll kill them when I find them. I'll kill them all."


	2. 1 - Welcome To Detroit City

"_This group of individuals is trying to destroy and discredit all we've managed to achieve. We took down FEAR. We have recreated society, and it's people like these that are bringing about corrupt-_"

Connor flicked the radio off, very nearly snapping the knob off of the infernal contraption. The rest of the room joined him in invariably peeved silence, the morale in the kitchen having plummeted to drastic levels. We each shared a look, expressions laced with concern and worry. Free Will had been gaining a lot of news coverage lately, ever since Alex Brown had gotten caught infiltrating the Wild Ones' headquarters with much of Sector One. Our _fearless leaders _had not wasted any time in harshly criticizing the organization, partaking in any media segment they could to spread propaganda. The citizens met this news with mixed emotions. Some became fearful, some became supporters of the new reform, but most reacted with anger, having pledged to serve the Legion with tooth and claw.

It was less than encouraging. It was less than upbuilding. It was less than, less than, less than.

Free Will had gotten the order over the next several days to lay low and stay out of the limelight, as if we weren't already doing enough of that. It was hard to pinpoint members of our organization when everyone in the country looked mostly the same, all dark hair and tattered clothing. Nonetheless, wanted posters popped up all over the city, and looking civilians in the eye became increasingly harder to do.

It was less than encouraging. It was less than upbuilding. It was less than, less than, _less than._

I noisily sipped on a lukewarm cup of coffee as Connor stomped away from the room, fists clenched and steam pouring from flushed ears. My older friend and confidant, Georgie, stared after the hotheaded young man, her eyebrows cinched together with misgivings. She held this position until he disappeared off into his bedroom, hands rubbing the tired skin of her eyes. "I'm not gonna live to see thirty, am I?" Georgie asked exhaustedly, giving me a questioning glance. I knew it was a rhetorical, but I shrugged at her anyways, content to stay out of the matter. My friend groaned at my passive attitude, collapsing lamely into the couch and curling up. Barely a minute of silence passed before she spoke again, voice muffled by cushions, "Jacky, can you go buy some more milk? We need it for dinner."

Now it was my turn to groan, and groan I did. I groaned standing up from my chair, I groaned putting on my coat and shoes, and I inwardly groaned as I skulked my way through broken Detroit all the way to the grocery store. The line for the checkout was unusually long on this particular day, and I found myself growing impatient in waiting, the earbuds stuffed deep into my head doing nothing to remedy the situation. Instead, the music just made me a very peeved young woman who was illegally listening to Eminem. The only people in Detroit that would bat an eye at my behaviour would be the Legion's most loyal of slaves. Homeboy was from my city - sometimes I've just gotta represent.

"Have a wonderful day, m'am," The crass cashier grumbled, a cigarette dangling from her lips. I bid her likewise and crept slowly out of the store, eyeing my surroundings paranoidly. Now was the time when you stuffed your cracked mp3 players and iPods deep into your pockets, put away your crosses and burned up your bibles. What once was the USA, land of the free, was now more like the third reich. The Legion's cops crawled around almost every corner of the city, ready to jump you at the worst time and search your person. Religion was outlawed, many genres of music were outlawed, certain styles of dress were outlawed - having privacy was outlawed.

It left a bad taste in many people's mouths, which eventually led to the formation of Free Will, who aim to earn back the personal rights we all once held. People in the Free Will did not reveal themselves, or tried not to. A couple weeks before now, and everyone outside of the organization wouldn't know a damn thing about us, but Alex Brown had to go and fuck it all up.

I ground my teeth at the thought, trying in vain to ward off the negative feelings I was getting. She'd taken it upon herself to jump the gun and try to take down the Legion without so much as a plan. Plenty of our friends on the West Coast had died, been taken prisoner. Plenty of them were probably being tortured right now, and it was all her fault.

I'd gotten so wrapped up within myself that I almost didn't notice the shady, official-looking figures trailing in and out of houses, scribbling in notepads and shouting orders to others. My heart rate tripled, pulse stumbling momentarily. I struggled not to let the trepidation get to me and kept walking, focusing on looking natural. As the men and women traipsed up and down the street, I tried to get a good look at what they were doing. Ultimately, I didn't even need to expend the effort in doing so, as they were quite vocal about it.

"You there, soldier, search the three houses on the left side of the side - the ones towards the end," An assertive older man order loudly to a subordinate, who promptly marched off to where he was indicated. I swallowed thickly as I watched the groups of cops barge into people's homes, my walking speed increasingly steadily until I was moving at a slow jog, hopefully none faster than any other jogger that were rarely seen nowadays.

None of the officials seemed to take any notice of my frantic movements, and I managed to skate by them unbothered. I had to warn the others. I had to tell them to hide all of our shit. We were screwed if I couldn't get home in time. Cursing inwardly, I ditched the gallon of milk I'd been carrying on the sidewalk, hopping over a distant neighbor's fence in hopes to travel unseen. My feet dragged me sloppily all the way home, the skin of my arms now covered in scratches from the bushes and wire fences that I had to skirt by.

Breath labored, I hopped the last fence that I needed to, collapsing shortly to the dirt before I managed to stumble my way back into the house.

"Oh - hey, Jack," Connor quipped in greeting, stirring a pot of some unknown substance, making the whole house smell of cooking. Clearly he recovers fast from emotional trauma.

I rested my hands on my knees, heaving loudly, very nearly losing what had been my lunch. Georgie came into the room as well, the two of them staring at me confusedly. "You okay, hun?" The tall brunette asked dubiously, coming closer to try and comfort me.

Pushing her away lightly, I stood up straighter, spewing out nonsensically, "They're fucking coming."

Neither of them comprehended the meaning behind my words, and I fumbled to recover. "... Did you get the milk?" Connor questioned offhandedly, continuing to stir his pot without taking his eyes off of my apparent mental breakdown.

"Screw the milk, dumbass," I spat, arms gesturing aimlessly, wildly, "It's like the goddamn Gestapo out there! They're searching everyone's houses!" Georgie reacted before any of us did, scampering around me and out the backdoor.

"I'll open the crawlspace!" She called back inside, and the ear-piercing scraping of stone could be heard from all around, "Gather up all of our shit!"

Connor cursed to himself, dropping the plastic spoon into our dinner and fishing it out hastily. I ignored his troubles and ran frantically around our house, gathering any and everything that could warrant suspicion. When I returned to Georgie, who was already busy shoving things underneath our house, I had hoards of things gathered in my arms and in bags that I'd haphazardly thrown over my shoulder. I had electronics, I had notebooks, I had maps, books, posters, CD organizers - everything I could find. At this rate we would run out of room to put our illegal things.

Never in a million years did I think it would come to this.

We were all back inside after several minutes of this went on, Connor deleting messages off of our home phone and Georgie and I wiping the internet history from our cruddy computer. The three of us tried our best to look natural, but a small group of very intense individuals sitting at the dining room table didn't look too normal, especially when none of us were eating anything.

Then came the knock at the door.


	3. 2 - The Littlest Things

Chills ran up the whole room's spine, shaking the walls and cracking the foundation. We shared a universal look of absolute peril, backs arched and shoulders very nearly passing the tops of our heads. The knock at the door did not last long, as the cops had simply let themselves in. Aftershocks of the earthquake-like knocks ravaged the floorboards as the officials stomped around the house, looting through our things without so much as a word. The three of us gave up looking natural. It wasn't like any other household hadn't been traumatized by their abrupt entrance.

They took out our kitchen drawers, dumping the contents onto the tiling. Silverware clattered against stone, the scraping aching in my eardrums. Pots, pans, strainers - all thrown to the ground with little care. Cupboards of old craft supplies, boxes of family portraits, old drawings from our childhoods - tossed around the room haphazardly.

Tears sprung up into my eyes, boiling in my sinuses with a helpless sort-of rage. My fingers curled around the armrests of the chair I was sitting in. Georgie stroked the length of my arm, attempting to comfort me, but the damage was already done - already being done.

I could hear them in mine and Georgie's bedroom now, tearing down curtains, ripping the mattresses off our our two beds. I could feel them peeling down the figurative wallpaper that we'd plastered between our shitty, little, makeshift family and the rest of the cruddy world. I could hear them in Connor's room now, cracking open the urn that held his father's ashes. I could hear our hearts break individually, could see the terror in my friends' eyes.

And then they were fucking gone.

They were gone, leaving our home in shambles. Our dingy home, no better than anyone else's in the country. Our dingy home that we'd fixed up ourselves, filled with things we thought were important. Our dingy home and the plans we'd made together within it. Our dingy home and the skin cells that we'd shed across every surface, the skin cells that no one could ever truly remove. Our dingy home that would always be a part of us, even when we were dead and the government had torched it.

I almost wished they'd found something to arrest us over. I almost wished I had an excuse to scream at them, swing my fists blindly and try to salvage some revenge for myself. Georgie now had a tense grip on my upper arm, trying to wipe the hot tears from my face as they fell. We sat at the kitchen table like this for nearly an hour, trying to compose ourselves. I felt stupid, young. What kind of rebellious activist breaks down and cries when some bulky men and stern women break into the house and wreak havoc?

"Honey, honey, shhhh," Georgie cooed quietly, running a hand through my hair, "They're gone now. They're gone. We can fix all of this, I promise." She sounded so calm herself, it made me feel worse.

Breathing deeply, I focused on calming myself down. This was nothing new for me. This really wasn't new to any of us, especially since the Legion went and lost their shit on the nation. I should be used to feeling so angry, so helpless, so, so, so, sosososo.

Teeth clenched hard enough to feel the nerves in my ears pop, I seethed from between vicious, sneering lips, "_I want them fucking dead._" My two friend's heads popped up at my venomous words, not used to hearing such things from someone who was usually so pacifistic, so down-to-earth. "... I want them to pay for what they've done to us, to everyone. I want them to see their goddamned house in shambles. I want them to have to pick it all back up again, and again, and again, and _again-_"

"Jacquelin," Georgie barked, grabbing me by the cheeks and staring me straight in the eyes, "We're gonna be okay. We're all gonna be okay. The Legion isn't going to stand for much longer, I promise you. I promise that you'll see a day when we can all do whatever the _fuck _we want, even if I have to do it with my own bare hands." Her thumbs dug firmly into my jaw for good measure before she released me, ruffling my hair with her other hand.

Connor did not expound on the subject, simply giving me a pointed look, an empathetic one. I blinked back at him to show that I understood, but neither of us spoke.

Yet another knock came at the door, making me jump straight into the air, all adrenaline and no thought. My chair clattered to the ground, and I barged my way around fallen objects, broken articles and personal belongings. I answered the knock with impossible amounts of vigor, of rage.

"What the fuck do you want?" I spat hideously to the person behind the door, blanching almost immediately at the sight of my feeble neighbor. Scanning her quickly, I noticed numerous amounts of tears scaling down her cheeks, and I unconsciously rubbed at the dry streaks that had been running down my own just minutes beforehand. She very nearly turned and ran back down my driveway at my rude introduction, but I gently caught her by the wrist and guided her to our now cluttered living room. "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't know it was you, oh my God," I scrambled to apologize, calling to Georgie and Connor to come out of the kitchen.

My brunette friend was the first to respond, striding into sight with a purposeful grace that only she could achieve. "Gloria! Thank God they didn't hurt you. What's wrong? What happened?" She ran off questions rapid-fire, immediately trumping my place as local comforter as she did so.

Gloria couldn't respond for a long minute, opening her mouth many times to speak, only managing to make gurgling noises around her grief. Finally, she managed to get her words in between shaky breaths, "They took Scotty away from me." My three friends and I could only stare at her, fish-faced and frozen. The frail, middle-aged woman looked up from her handkerchief that she'd blown her nose into, giving me a direct, soul-crushingly distraught look. "They took my son from me."


End file.
